Enoch’s Thoughts

There’s a sign painted on a block wall in front of Massey’s Used Cars outside of Athens. It says, “Everybody Drives a Used Car.” That is surely true, but some cars are way more used than others.

Saturday I drove Maybelle to Athens. Maybelle is an ’84 Chevy 4×4 pickup that my parents sold to Ben and me. She has less than 80,000 miles on her, which is both good and bad. “Settin’ up” is as bad on equipment as it is on people. Things start to leak, flexible objects harden and vice versa, and some parts just stop working all together.

The trip was rather calm, so I had time to muse on some of the well-used vehicles I’ve had the opportunity to drive. My first was probably an old Ford delivery truck at a TV repair shop I worked at for a few weeks in high school. In college I acquired a ’63 Austin-Healey Sprite, and from there the list grew quickly to include a ’71 GMC pickup, a couple of Suburbans, a 1950 International school bus (in Mexico City, no less), and countless others since.

Driving an older vehicle, especially a car that one has recently repaired, is an exercise in sensory awareness. You listen for strange sounds – squeaks, squeals, grinding, hissing, dripping. Windows rolled down, you sniff the air for burning rubber, and chemical aromas from fuel, antifreeze, or oil. Your eyes go back and forth from the road to the gauges to the hood to the rear-view mirror, looking for smoke, steam, abnormal readings, a trail of liquid. (And what color is the liquid? Green is antifreeze, red is transmission fluid, shimmery may be fuel.) From your hands on the wheel, to your seat on the seat, to the pedals and floorboard under your feet, you feel for thumps, bumps, and vibrations, but not the good ones the Beach Boys sang about.

One summer when the kids were young, we drove an old Suburban to a lake in north Alabama for a week of vacation. Just as we pulled off of the Interstate, I heard a deep clatter whose pitch changed relative to the engine speed (as opposed to the vehicle speed, which would have suggested a drive train or wheel problem.) The clatter went away as the speed increased, but faithfully returned every time we idled.

I eased the big white beast on through a national forest, through a couple of tiny towns, and to our vacation destination, a lakeside trailer belonging to Jayne’s mother and her sisters. Paying for repair was not an option for us at that time. So I paddled a canoe around the lake to a small (closed) marina that had a pay phone booth. I called Hankamer, who was my friend, co-worker, and auto repair mentor, to discuss the options. Based on the symptoms as I reported them to Hank, we concluded that it sounded like the engine bearings, and it sounded like they needed to be replaced now.

Fortunately, that was a job that required more labor than parts, so I called an aunt, arranged to borrow a car, and drove into the nearest town that had an auto parts store. I bought the bearings, gaskets, and some miscellaneous sealers, drove back to the trailer, and returned the car to Jayne’s aunt.

Fortunately, I had my tools, and the big Suburban sat sort of high off the ground so I could work on it with no trouble. For the next few days, while the kids swam, played, ate, and investigated the woods around the lake, I dropped the oil pan, extricated the old main and rod bearings, and replaced them with the new ones. They were indeed worn, with the copper showing through the bearing material on several of them.

It was hot, sweaty summer work, but jumping in the lake provided me with cool refreshment several times each day, and the lake also served as a big bathtub at the end of the day when I had to scrub off the oil and grease.

Finally I buttoned the engine all back up, refilled it with oil, and cranked her up. To my delight, it started right up. But to my huge dismay, the clatter was still there!!!

So I did what I surely should have done before I attacked the bearings. I took off all the fan belts (in my defense, not an easy task) and cranked her up again. No clatter. Turns out it was the air conditioner clutch. I’ve never heard one make that noise before or since. It’s a good thing the actual bearings were worn, or I would have felt even dumber.

But I must admit that the family and I actually enjoyed the week, and it all ended well. We got back home safely, and that old ‘Burb ran quite a few more miles before I finally gave her to a co-worker with a bigger family and smaller bank account.

I wish I could say that my Summer Suburban Misdiagnosis was my only auto repair error, but that would be terribly incorrect. I’ve made quite a few, several before that one, and plenty since. I finally figured out that it comes with the territory. Maybe that’s why driving elderly vehicles is such a sensory experience for me.

Me and Maybelle made it to Athens just fine, by the way. And when we got there, with Bo’s help, we turned this…

… into this …

All in all, a good day.